


Gendered Personality Traits

by loveanddeathandartandtaxes



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU exchange, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Gender Issues, M/M, Miscommunication, Omega John
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-12
Updated: 2014-07-20
Packaged: 2018-02-08 12:58:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1942029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveanddeathandartandtaxes/pseuds/loveanddeathandartandtaxes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a brief period in his early twenties where he looked into surgery to remove his reproductive system, he’s mostly come to terms with what he is. He’s not comfortable with people fetishising his gender, though, and tries (fairly successfully) to keep it under wraps. His flatmate, on the other hand, makes the most of people’s assumptions, not for his own comfort, but merely for convenience.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AlexavierTaiga](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexavierTaiga/gifts).



> The first chapter in what was originally going to be a one-shot. Sorry TigerTrish!

“You don’t look so happy with your boyfriend, cutie.”

John looks up at the character in front of him, startled to realise he is the one being addressed.

“What?”

“You don’t look so happy. With your boyfriend. Cutie.” This time John is looking at the man’s face, able to see the wry grin and wink.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” he starts unenthusiastically, before giving up entirely. Sherlock had swanned off just a moment ago - for another drink, a toilet stop, a cigarette, or a scuffle with a criminal - anything was possible. All John knows is that he is stranded at this pub table until Himself reappears, and the only explanation or instruction he had received was “I need to find out whether this case is worth taking. Don’t draw attention to yourself.” He supposes that last bit is about to become more difficult, as an oily grin spreads across leonine features and the stranger helps himself to a seat.

“Um, that seat is taken, mate.” A little warning is injected into his voice, and John hopes it will be heard.

“He won’t mind us chatting. He’s not your boyfriend, so it’s not really any of his business, is it? I’ll get you a drink.”

"I'd very much prefer to be left alone, thanks." A deceptively soft hand catches his, and John glances at a forced grin before tearing his gaze and hand away. He can catch a glimpse of Sherlock weaving towards him, eyes flickering over the two of them at the table. Under the table, John flicks his fingers in their _I see trouble_ sign. Sherlock dips his chin slightly and continues closer as John's admirer refuses to be dissuaded.   

_Follow my lead_ , John signs. "Listen here you tosser, you need to learn to take 'no' for an answer. He's not my boyfriend; he's my sodding husband. Piss off."

The words come easier than he had expected, and clearly Sherlock had read his signing, as he doesn't react to this announcement at all, pulling up a chair to sit beside John and lean into him. "Everything alright, dear?" he rumbles.

"Yeah, course," John answers, staring at the stranger. "This guy's just leaving."

"Alright, whatever." The man rolls his eyes as he stands and stalks away. Sherlock remains pressed against John's arm.

"My hero - thank you," John murmurs, and feels Sherlock chuckle.

"Saving you from Alphas flirting with you?"

"Saving me from creeps who think being pushy is going to make me like them."

"You've dealt with his type before." It’s a deduction, not a question, but John answers anyway.

"Not from this angle. I've had to sham at being a boyfriend for a couple men and women in my classes at uni, or in my unit." He does not receive a reply other than a quick kiss to his shoulder before Sherlock pulls away. They sit amicably for a time, Sherlock surveying, John nursing the dregs of his beer. Then:

"Men _and_ women?"

John chuckled.

"Mostly women."

John manages another couple of pints while Sherlock judges the situation in the pub. He does not share his thoughts, though, and eventually bundles a happily pliant John into a taxi home.

“Taking the case, then?” John asks as they climb the stairs.

“Possibly. I’ll want to discuss some things with you in the morning.”

“Mm, you don’t think sober John will agree with tipsy John?”

“Something like that. Get some sleep.” Nodding, John turns up the stairs to his room, but stops to look at his friend.

“You too, yeah? You get some sleep. Okay?”

“Yes, dear,” Sherlock quips, and they both grin.

* * *

 

_ Sherlock had been the easiest person to gender-identify John had ever met, including some of his more terrifying COs. If he didn't always, always have evidence to back himself up, he would have been unbearably obnoxious, and he seemed to live under the assumption that everyone would follow his slightest whim. Unfortunately he was charismatic enough that most people usually did, and John was no better than anyone else at saying "no" to Sherlock. In fact, he was probably a lot worse than most. _

_He’d known it was a risky choice, moving in with an Alpha he didn’t know at all. Almost immediately it became painfully clear that not only was forceful knotting far from the top of the list of dangers in his new life, but that it barely crossed Sherlock’s mind at all. He knew Sherlock knew he was omega, as unusual as that was for men, although they never really discussed it. Working with him - living with him - just worked without anything being said._

_Of course, after a couple of months, that all fell apart. He knew his heat was coming in, and he could have booked a week in a hotel - his share of the money from the “Blind Banker” case would stand to be dented by five or six days of room service. But he **liked** Sherlock, liked his new life, and he’d spent a substantial amount of time imagining sharing a heat with him, biting his lip to silence himself as he worked a toy into himself._

_“You’re currently experiencing proestrus; have been for a few days,” Sherlock told him as they arrived home one night, as if John had been unaware of the background static of mild cramps for the best part of the last week._

_“Yeah. Yeah, I am,” he replied eventually, licking his lips. When he said nothing further, Sherlock glanced at him, brow furrowed._

_“Well, as you’re not planning on going elsewhere for the duration-” John shook his head in confirmation, “I would appreciate knowing who I will have to endure passing in the kitchen when they come down for sustenance.”_

_“Sherlock, I - no-one’s - there’s no other Alpha,”_

_“I understood heats were much relieved by an Alpha. That… satisfaction is practically impossible alone.”_

_“It is, yeah.” He thought for a moment. “Have you… never experienced an Omega in heat?”_

_“Please, John, can you really imagine anyone would consent to being observed in such a vulnerable state by someone unaffected by it? Even if I wished to, I would think my inability to knot would put rather a damper on their enthusiasm.”_

_John stared. Sherlock was talking like he was a Beta._

_“Yeah,” he said vacantly. “True.”_

__

_His heat was agonising, although he periodically received texts from Sherlock that, when he was lucid enough to check them, notified him of refreshments waiting outside his door. On the second day, the sandwich and flask of tea were accompanied by one of Sherlock's dressing gowns, the silk soft enough that it didn't feel like it irritated his skin when he slunk down to use the bathroom. The knowledge that he would need to use it at least a half-dozen more times was barely enough to stop him jacking himself with the fabric. As soon as he could go out into the world again, he filled himself a prescription for suppressants._

* * *

 

"Are my suppressants not working properly, or what," John scowls as he potters around getting breakfast. "I don't usually get ID'ed as Omega by strangers."

"You do spend an inordinate amount of effort to pass as Beta," Sherlock observes.

"Like you can talk," John snaps. After a brief period in his early twenties where he looked into surgery to remove his reproductive system, he’s mostly come to terms with what he is. He’s not comfortable with people fetishising his gender, though, and tries (fairly successfully) to keep it under wraps. His flatmate, on the other hand, makes the most of people’s assumptions, not for his own comfort, but merely for convenience.

"Gendered personality traits are an alpharchal construct, John, you know this."

John does know. He’s also continued to fantasise about driving Sherlock mad with lust, about being knotted by him, despite everything. His prescription recommends allowing a heat for every three it denied, so it’s probably time to go off the suppressants until his next heat passed. He sighs and risks a glance at Sherlock, who looks a little bored.

"How well can you predict the timing of your heats?"

"Jesus Christ, Sherlock, one day you'll have to just admit to reading minds."

Sherlock dismisses this with a wave of his hand.

"I had it pretty well down in university, but on these meds... I don't know. I usually get about four or five day's notice, with the cramps and things. I should have four heats a year, give or take a week."

"You were on suppressants in Afghanistan."

"Different prescription, though, and regs said we could only suppress every other heat. A week's leave every six months didn't go astray. You could choose an alpha to apply to accompany you, as well. So, I don't know."

"I need your assistance on this case; obviously not possible if you're in oestrus."

"No," John agrees.

"Well, there's little need for hurry. The case can wait."

"The case can... what?"

"Well, what choice do I have, John? It can wait or I can abandon it to the incompetence of the Yard."

"Alright.” He thinks about asking if Sherlock would like to help him out with his next heat, Alpha knot or no. He is probably curious - surely he knows Hollywood sanitised what a heat involved.

“So I’ll let my heat happen, hope it comes in soon. Wasn't there something you wanted to talk about this morning, to do with the case? For when we do get on it."

"Yes. I'll be operating on the assumption that the gentleman you spoke to is involved in some measure."

"Of course I had a murderer chatting me up."

"Not necessarily. He may have been an accomplice or simply a confidant."

"Cheers. I feel much better."

"Good. Now, I'd rather not ruffle any feathers until the end, so we'll continue the ruse of being married."

“But… are we going to pretend you’re an Alpha, or that I’m Beta?”

Sherlock frowns.

“Why would we need to pretend anything?”

“Omegas and Betas don’t make for mated pairs,” he says bitterly.


	2. Chapter 2

“You’re not actually attracted to Alphas, though,” Sherlock announces conversationally into the silence of their living room. John snorts.

“Am I not?”

“Obviously. You never date them. I suspect you never have, except when you were closing in on a heat.”

Turning a page of the newspaper, John tries to ignore him. After less than a minute, he snaps the paper down onto his knees.

“What business is it of yours?”

“You said we’d have to pretend one of us is not who we are, for the case. You said I could play Alpha. But you’re not attracted to Alphas, which ruins the pretence somewhat if we say we are married. You’re not a very good actor, you know.”

“I’m plenty attracted to Alphas.”

Sherlock smiles smugly and shakes his head.

“Nope.” John wishes he wouldn’t do that thing with his mouth.

“Yes, alright? I bloody well enjoy getting knotted when I’m in heat. It’s… I just don’t like everyone knowing I’m an oddity, the rest of the time.”

"That's just biology. Of course you want that then. But truly, in your head - and that's where attraction and arousal starts - you're not interested."

"You don't know who I'm attracted to," John snaps, hoping it’s true.

"That is more difficult to discern," Sherlock concedes. "You should ask yourself, though, do you want to be a beta, or do you want a relationship with one?"

"Something to consider after my heat passes. In the meantime, I'll continue with my fantasies as they are, thank you very much."

Sherlock opens his mouth to ask. John throws out his hand.

"No. No, I've already shared more than I'm really comfortable with. Some things can stay private."

He storms up to bed soon after. He thinks about - apologising? Or at least discussing what they had been talking about - the next day, but couldn't work up the nerve. It’s easy to put it off when Sherlock is in full research mode. The day after that, he wakes up rutting into the mattress with slickness between his cheeks.

**heat's started** , he texts Sherlock.

**Come down for breakfast if you're still in your right mind. I'll lock the front door. -SH**

**not hungry**

**Obviously, but you're not so far gone that you’re ignoring your phone yet. You need sustenance. -SH**

John groans. He knows Sherlock is right, but that pales against the empty ache in his arse.

**I'll pick the lock to your room if necessary. -SH**

**fucking christ. alright**

With a dressing gown wrapped around him that doesn’t do a damn thing to hide his erection, he stomps down the stairs. In the kitchen, Sherlock sat with a bare piece of toast and a mug of coffee in front of him, while John’s side of the table boasts a glass of orange juice, muesli, a muffin, sausage, beans, eggs, bacon, a croissant with tomato and cheese, and a banana, in addition to his own toast and tea. John blinks.

“I… wasn’t sure what you’d want for breakfast?” Sherlock tries.

“So you made everything?”

“It just sort of… happened.”

John groans, then, as the first pangs of true heat ripple through him.

“God, I won’t be able to stay long.”

“Mm.” Sipping the coffee, Sherlock regards John. “The timing of the waves of a heat is rather fascinating. I’d like to study it further.”

He nods absently, shoving food in his mouth as fast as he can.

“Let me know your findings, yeah?”

Sherlock grumbles under his breath.

 

It’s not until after he’s made himself come twice, laying gasping in the almost-satisfied reprieve between orgasm and repeated need, that he realises Sherlock might have been trying to offer to… John’s not sure. Sit in and observe his heat, if nothing else. Does he know John would be physically incapable of refraining from begging Sherlock to fuck him?

 

* * *

 

_He’d tried dating Alphas, of course, like a normal Omega, but when not a slave to his reproductive cycle, people that caught his eye were almost invariably Beta women.  There had been quite a number of awkward moments when pants were removed and his secondary gender revealed. A few had told him it was okay, some had thought it kinky, but in the end they’d all seen him as a curiosity, Omega first and man second, and he’d broken it off. Online dating sites helped him find some of the few Alpha women in the country, but although they could sympathise with each other, there had been no attraction to speak of other than his heats._

_In the army, priorities were rethought, and it didn’t hurt that government-provided suppressants were **very** good quality. Everyone in his unit knew what he was, but no-one cared. He had hoped that also meant that they saw him as the same as the Betas. John had invited his CO to see him through his heat, as they got on quite well. He spent five blissful days with Sholto’s knot pressing comfortingly inside him, and although he’s always been a bit fuzzy on some of the finer details of what happened during heats, he could recall sweet promises. After they’d returned to duty and caught up on their business, John decided to collect on them._

_The sex was good, but John rankled at the idea of always bottoming. He tried to broach the subject a few times, but Sholto seemed almost intentionally slow to pick up._

_One evening as they lay entwined in each other, distracted from the task of getting undressed, John nibbled his way from collarbone to ear._

_“I want to fuck you,” he whispered. “Please, can I?”_

_Sholto stilled. “I don’t know, John.”_

_“You’ve never - before?”_

_Calloused hands eased him back, and they sat up._

_“I’m an Alpha,” Sholto reminded him gently._

_“And I’m a man,” John insisted. “I like what we have, James, I just want sometimes to…” he stared at his hands. “I just want.”_

 

* * *

 

Three days after his heat finishes, he’s back on the suppressants that make him feel as normal as he can, and the game is back on. Sherlock is typically sparse with explanation as they make their way to the pub in question. John realises too late they’d never come to an agreement about what gender roles they would be playing. He supposes there is nothing for it but to continue as they have for the last year or so.

Their fingers entwine as they enter, although he isn’t sure whose hand reaches out first. The man who created the need for this ruse glances their way, and John looks away.

“What do you need me to do,’’ he murmurs.

“Just eat dinner tonight. Your caloric intake has been shocking.”

“I was _busy_.”

“Yes, I know.” He greets a waitress, and they make their way to a table. “You talk and make friends; you’re good at that. It distracts people from my investigating.”

“Your breaking into things and snooping, you mean,” John grins. Sherlock flaps a had to silence him; he’s right.


End file.
